Family Tales

A few days before Rory’s birth, I mused about how things might go down. Now, finally, nearly 8 weeks later, I’ve written the final chapter of the pregnancy.

The scene: mid-morning outside of Grand Central Station in Midtown Manhattan. Michael and I are on our cell phones at the bus stop, frantically texting and making phone calls to let people know… today’s the day. No, I wasn’t in labor. We’d just been at the doctor’s office, a couple of days past my due date, and the routine blood pressure check had turned up an alarmingly high reading. Dr. Henry inflated the blood pressure cuff again to be sure. My blood pressure was lower, but still high — a sign of life-threatening pre-eclampsia. Well, he said, it’s time to get this baby out. Michael and I looked at each other, nervous smiles on our lips. It wasn’t my dream scenario, but I was ready. Induction also held the advantage of familiarity. We knew the routine, having gone through it nearly three years earlier with Callum.

We had to go straight to the hospital, but there wasn’t any hurry, so we took the M42 bus — talking on the phone with friends and family the whole time — over to Times Square. Then, we took the 1 train up to Columbus Circle. Underground and cut off from cell signals, we held hands on the train platform and smiled at each other, giddily. Here we were, going to the hospital to have the baby… on the subway. Surrounded by hundreds of strangers, we thrilled in our little secret.

The momentum slowed once we got to St. Lukes-Roosevelt Hospital. We sat in triage for hours, waiting to be assigned a room, while women in various stages of labor (and those like me) shuffled in and out. Once we got a room, Michael headed home to get the “go” bag and I relaxed while they performed tests. Because there were no more high blood pressure readings, and no other signs of pre-eclampsia, at least one doctor and the nurse planted seeds of doubt in my mind. Maybe they wouldn’t induce, after all, and we’d just be going home. I tried to mentally make peace with that idea, though I was disappointed. I imagined Michael turning up with our bag of stuff, only to be told we needed to turn around and go home. But, for the moment, we stayed. I read “Forever” by Pete Hamill. Michael returned.

By around 5 p.m., the doctor on duty told us the evidence for pre-eclampsia was strong enough to warrant an induction. The blood pressure signs — intermittent though they were — were worrying enough. So, at 6 p.m., in went the Pitocin drip, and the contractions began. It was an hour or two before I asked for an epidural. The pain was just starting to get intense (they kept turning up the Pitocin) when I asked, and by the time the anesthesiologist arrived, I was moaning loudly and crushing Michael’s hand with every contraction. Holding still for the needle — even though I knew he was sticking something in between my vertebrae — was a challenge. Then, the drugs kicked in and a smile spread across my face.

A while later, I was 5 cm dilated, and the nurse suggested we take the opportunity to take a nap. Great idea, I thought. I’m getting tired and this could take a while, given how long it’s taken to get to this point. If it took as long to dilate the second 5 centimeters as it took for the first 5, we’d be into the next day. I proceeded to take off my contact lenses and both Michael and I began to prep for sleep. Then, suddenly, the baby’s heartbeat started to slow now and then. Uh, oh. We’d had a similar situation with Callum, but it was right as I was pushing, so we were able to just get the delivery over with. At just 5 centimeters, that wasn’t an option.

I was placed on oxygen to ensure the baby got plenty. I shifted to my left side to maximize the amount of blood flowing to the baby. The c-section option was discussed, much to my dismay. Finally, the doctor examined me. Less than an hour after I’d been at 5 centimeters, I’d arrived at 10 — fully dilated and ready to push. Perhaps the shock of so many strong contractions was what was slowing the baby’s heartbeat, Dr. Hedley speculated. Whatever the reason, it was definitely time for him to come out.

Michael stood on one side of me, holding my left leg up as I pushed. The nurse held the right leg. It probably took all of 3 contractions of pushing — and a little help from vacuum extraction — before Rory was with us. Immediately, they placed him, all slime and blood and beauty, on my chest while Michael cut the umbilical cord. When I heard his lusty cry, that’s when I began to tear up with relief and joy. Though we’d thought it impossible, he was just as beautiful as Callum — healthy and whole and born at 10:15 p.m. that Thursday night.

It had just been a little over 4 hours since the start of the Pitocin drip. It was three days after my due date. And it was less than 24 hours after a visit to the doctor’s office started the ball rolling. Rory, we love you dearly. Welcome to the family!

Today, I watched my eldest son take off to school (accompanied by daddy, of course) on his brand-new birthday-present scooter. As this newly-minted 3-year-old whizzed away, struggling a little to find his balance and master turning, I thought, “my little boy is growing up.” How bittersweet.

I’m sure the copious amounts of cupcake frosting we’ll be consuming will dull the bitterness. Happy birthday, Callum!

(Note: This post as originally composed was a huge bandwidth hog, so I’m reconstituting it via Flickr)

By now, a day before my due date, I’ve scoured the Internet for birth stories — stories of water breaking, of castor-oil-taking, of mad rushes to the hospital, of C-sections. I’m looking for clues of what to expect. Nine months ago, we started down the inexorable path to the baby’s birth. As the clock counted down, my tummy grew bigger, I began to feel movement, and I experienced a host of other symptoms. Now I’ve reached the last few days, and I look for portents of how it will end. What will this boy’s birth story be?

I know how it was with Callum. I never went into labor, having been induced the day before my due date after experiencing nothing resembling contractions. It was a Saturday. They started the Pitocin at around 8 a.m. and, after some serious pain, an epidural and a brief low-heart-rate scare, vacuum extracted him out at around 1 p.m. I was almost surprised he was actually with us, so focused had I been on the birth. What an amazing experience.

But what will the beginning look like for #2? Will I go into labor, as these on-and-off contractions I’ve been experiencing would seem to indicate? If so, will it be in the middle of the night? Early in the morning? Mid-day, as I sit here on maternity leave watching the TiVo-ed LOST season finale? Will I ride by myself over the Brooklyn Bridge to the Manhattan hospital on the subway, experiencing mild but regular contractions? Will Michael drive me in our car? Will I be overtaken, alone, by major contractions and have to call a car service while Michael is at work?

I’m not set to see my doctor again until next Thursday — several days past d-day. By that time, the discussion at the doctor’s office will probably be around induction, as I know the doctor’s office doesn’t think we should go as long as, or further than, 41 weeks, as they say the risk of problems grows greater then. By that time, no matter how serious my commitment to a natural process, I will probably be ready for a little help, perhaps in the form of Pitocin. I’ve already tried the spicy food. Not yet the castor oil.

But for now, I try to relax and wonder, every morning, will today be the day? Is this squirming little creature ready to join us on this blue-skies first day of June? What story will I be telling, here, a few days from now? What story will I be telling the little one, years down the line, on his birthday? I’m desperately looking forward to finding out.

Cross-posted from Free Range.

We’re standing on the edge of a whole new family reality, ready to emerge on the other side as a foursome, rather than a threesome. For now, though, things are pretty normal — well, as normal as they can be with a nearly-three-year-old and a nine-months-pregnant woman in the house.

Bloated and enormous as I feel, I’m aware things haven’t changed so tremendously yet. These are the last days when I can refer to Callum as my favorite boy in the whole wide world. I can still cuddle him with my attention undivided. We can still make our family plans without packing #1 size diapers and breaking out the Baby Bjorn.

This weekend, we had some very special moments as a family. Last night, after peeking outside, Michael declared he’d seen fireflies, so we rushed to get Callum into his pyjamas so we could wander into the back yard and take a look. Callum’s eyes were wide and excited. He’d heard about this phenomenon known as a firefly, and Mommy and Daddy were about to introduce him to some. Alas, once we got outside, none of the creatures could be spotted, but, in those moments, we fully experienced the anticipation of introducing our son to some of the wonders of this life. That’s what makes parenting worthwhile. (Well, that, and the cuddles.)

Though the fireflies never materialized, we did have some family “firsts” this weekend. We fillled up the baby wading pool in the back yard for the first time, and some of Callum’s bath toys migrated outside. I even put on my maternity bathing suit and plopped down myself, the new vantage point allowing me to discover a purple and yellow iris hiding behind the weeds.

We also went to the park on Monday and took in one of those legendary NYC experiences — kids running through spraying water fountains set up to cool them off. When we arrived at the park, the stroller ride had lulled Callum to sleep, so we sat on a bench and parked him in the shade, watching him closely for signs of awakening. Once he opened his eyes (we’d started calling his name at the first sign of stirring), his first words were, “the water is on!”

Callum took a little while to warm up to the idea of getting wet, but he was perfectly happy to kick his soccer ball under the streams and insist that Daddy go get it. It was a great opportunity for Michael to take Callum’s hand and nudge him along. After some initial hesitation, they rushed through the spray together, kicking the ball exuberantly. After a while, Callum grew quite comfortable, and Michael started to shiver with cold. Ah, the sacrifices he’s made for being a dad.

Yes, it’s just been another weekend of joy, and incessant “why?”s. I think we’re now ready for #2 to come along, whenever he’s ready.

Cross-posted from Free Range

It’s rare that Michael and I get to pick up Callum from day care together. Usually, we play tag-team while one or another of us works late or goes grocery shopping for essentials. But Tuesday night, we met on the train platform at West 4th Street so we could emerge from the subway in Brooklyn as a unit. Why the uncharacteristic togetherness? It was snowing. Yes, we’ve had a few flurries this year, but nothing resembling the picture-postcard snow underfoot that comes to mind when you think snow.

Tuesday was different — it was real substantial snow that crunches with every step — and we were both eager to see Callum’s reaction to the spectacle. After all, we’d dragged him away from sunny California to this big, mostly-frozen city, where he couldn’t go outside without multiple layers. He found it generally unpleasant, but this winter thing, we promised him, had an upside — snow! We talked of snowmen and sledding, but I’m sure he was beginning to doubt our veracity. He’d seen nothing of the sort, and we’ve been here since mid-December.

After we trudged together, smiling with anticipation, we arrived at the day care and began to coax Callum outside. (Promises of snow didn’t mean much to him.) But when we finally got him out into the falling snow, he found plenty to keep him occupied. He felt the crispness of the snow underfoot; he gave snowball-making a shot; he kicked up loose snow. When we got home, Michael took him out on our newly-purchased thrift-store sled. (Due to global warming, this might be our one big chance this winter.) What was most exciting for us parents was the look of wonder in his eye as he experienced this new weather sensation. “Raining?” he kept saying. “No, honey, snowing,” we said.

Note: our camera shutter seems to have not opened completely, so our pictures are kind of screwed up.

On Wednesday, the moving truck drove away with all of our things, and we checked into the motel where we’d be sleeping for our last two nights in California. But then we headed back to the neighborhood for one last hurrah — a laid-back dinner at our wonderful neighbors’ house. They’d ordered from a legendary Berkeley pizza place we were quite fond of, and the conversation and atmosphere was easy and relaxed. As the night crept on, we grew tired and determined to head out. We said our goodbyes and the ever-energetic Callum jumped down the neighbors’ steps, walked over to our driveway, toddled up our front walkway, and stood patiently in front of our hunter-green front door, waiting to be let inside.

“No, honey,” I said, “we don’t live here anymore.”

It may go without saying, but many tears ensued, as it really sunk in that we’d never again sleep under that roof that sheltered a thousand memories. Memories of bringing Callum home from the hospital, full of worry and anticipation (and quite rightly so) of months of wakeful nights. Memories of his first steps, first tumbles, and first words.

Tomorrow we fly to our new home in NYC, where we’ll make many more family memories. Snow is forecast for our first night there, so maybe we’ll kick off the memory-making with a snowman.

Callum’s ability to say words is moving ahead at an astounding pace. Here are a few of the items in his vocabulary:

New ones:

• Spider
• Stop
• Go
• Canta (sing, in Spanish)
• Cat (he still mostly refers to cats as “meow”)
• Food (sounds like “bood”)
• Boo boo (American childish word for for “injury”)

Longstanding parts of the vocab:

• Ga-ga (for anything to drink - originates from “agua,” Spanish for water)
• Car
• Dog
• Ball
• Bath
• Choo Choo
• Mama and Dada
• Bear
• Backpack
• Bike
• Boots

Just when I’d convinced myself the whole “cat” phenomenon was all in my head, Callum floored me with another big moment. When I approached his day care today I peeked in the front window. (I love doing this to see what he’s doing before he sees me. Yes, I’m spying on my kid already.)

But I was spotted, and one of the day care ladies immediately shouted “let’s show your mommy” (in Spanish). Then she set him on his feet, and he proceeded to take about three steps toward me. Then, of course, he promptly fell down. I was practically in tears and kept saying “Wow.” Meanwhile, Callum couldn’t figure out what the big deal was.

So, it’s happened. Our boy has begun his life as a walker. We couldn’t get him to do much more than one step at home (perhaps because we have hardwood floors, whereas the day care has carpeting). But sooner or later he’s going to figure out he’s likelier to catch the cat if he’s on two feet.

BTW, no more evidence that verbal language is in the works. Stops and starts, I guess.